


Tools

by barghest



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluffy Ending, Kylo Ren Backstory, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, do you know how hard it is to make these two kiss, droid hux, kind of..... - Freeform, kylo ren doesnt rly use the force bc im lazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the depths of a stormtrooper cargo hold, Kylo Ren finds a droid, different from any he has seen before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tools

**Author's Note:**

> oh god this took me 6 weeks of on/off writing in like 4 different countries (i wrote some of this in an airport in bali sobs) and it radically changes style and i'm sorry. a friend on good ole tumblr suggested i write robohux. im sorry plastic they dont properly kiss, ill write you porn some other time.  
> im sorry in advance if this ends abruptly :'/

Ben builds his first droid as a child. He gathers scraps from around the house, discreetly picking apart any dusty implement he can reach - Han's blaster goes missing, and a week passes before a beeping raises him in the middle of the night, a bot as tall as his knees shuddering across the floor and twirling in surprise when it rolled over a bump in the ground.

"Did you make that?" Ben's eyes are solemn in the dark, as he nods softly. Han buys him a toolkit for his next birthday, and those dark eyes light up like the stars out the window.

The toolkit gathers dust in the corner of a stormtrooper base until the weight of Snoke's hand is burnt into the shoulders of Kylo Ren, until Leia watches the Falcon disappear into the darkening sky and turns to her senate with her lips set in a firm line. Ben pretends he is a distant memory, a dark cloak around his shoulders (to hide in, the same colour as the back of his eyelids, where he can pretend a little harder that he has always been alone, and that it is alright). He pretends to forget the worn handles of the tools, fingering the handle of his lightsaber instead. He is reinvented as a destroyer, creation buried in the folds of his past.

\--

"Master Ren," Captain Phasma, shiny and new like the sabre at his hip, voice devoid of emotional weakness (reassuring to Kylo, somehow), "my men have found something that may be at interest to you."

He is tinkering when she asks, fiddling with the restraints on an interrogation chair (his own design), "hmm?" Helmet unusually up, he doesn't turn to look at her. "What?"

"A droid," her boots click a little as she straightens up, Kylo upright before she can continue, striding out into the corridor. A gathering of troopers - following Phasma, obviously - scatter a little as he cuts through them, Phasma hot on his heels. It takes him a moment to realise he doesn't know where he is going, but fortunately her legs are longer, chrome footfalls surpassing him to lead the way. (His helmet flicks down as he walks - the faulty hinge that has caused it to smack down on his chin proving its use for once.)

"It doesn't look too old, Master Ren," Phasma does not turn to look at him, "simply disused. You did say--"

"What kind of droid?," Kylo cuts in, "Humanoid? Astromech?"

"Humanoid, maybe a protocol droid," there is a grain of uncertainty in Phasma's voice as she stops by a storeroom door, "we have not touched it, so we can't be sure." She reaches for the door, a hesitance in her fingers, but Ren gets there first - the door almost flies open before he touches the handle. The lights inside flicker on, turning to focus on a figure slumped in the corner of the space.

When Ren still wore the sandy robes of a young Jedi, he watched a puppet show of a kind, the holographic creatures dancing under the hands of the puppeteer. They tiptoed across rocks and through the desert brush before the puppeteer 'snipped' their strings, letting their limbs fall to the ground. The droid flopped on the ground in front of him now reminds him, limp on the cold metal beneath it.

Kylo crouches before it, the lights brightening with a flick of his wrist and bringing the droid's face into better view - behind the mask, his eyes soften (despite his attempts to remain stoic) at the fine detail etched into the metal of the droid's jaw. A grey garment - thick and woolly, winter wear of course - hid the outline of its body, a rubbery skin painted with human details stretching over the face - but he could see the metalwork poking out from the collar. The skin seems to go no further. His fingers graze the hairline of the droid, a wig affixed to its skin that sheds when touched.

"Bring him to my chambers." 

\--

The droid refuses to be anything but dormant, even when Ren becomes frustrated enough to tear into its abdomen, accidentally shredding the outer plating as he attempts to access the electronics. Kylo pulls a face as he digs through the wires to find the droid's internal battery system, teeth gritted as he manages to wiggle it free for inspection. 

"You're so compact," he mutters to the droid, lying on a work bench in front of him, "messy, though. Whoever put you together wasn't really thinking." The droid, predictably, says nothing back.

He toils a little longer in silence, loose wires connected back to the droid's internal mechanisms and the battery pushed back into place before he picks up conversation again, "you need a name." Strands of black hair fall in front of his face, he blows them away with a huff. "What'd suit you?"

The droid says nothing, wisps of the synthetic hair on its scalp shifting under Ren's breath. He wonders after the colour for a minute, few of the First Order command having such a shade of red atop them.

"How about," Kylo frowns a little as he works, "FN-337. KR-337, maybe. A stormtrooper name. Honourable."

Nothing.

"Kay-Arr? An acronym. Easy to remember."

The droid's head rolls to one side as Ren shifts it about, the metal plating clicking a little as it turns. For all the galaxy about them, it seems like a disagreement. Kylo's brow creases. 

"Lieutenant. Captain. Soldier."

No response.

His toolkit had been dug out from the cargo hold of the base, once Phasma had left him to his own devices. A spanner balanced between his fingers now seemed so small - but it fitted the bolt perfectly, and he wound it tighter against the droid's surface. Maybe he should call the bot 'Spanner', and see how it objected then.

"You're useless with names," he mutters, sitting back a little to view his handiwork. Head turned the other way, the droid's eyes glow a little.

\--

Sometimes, when the base is quiet enough and Kylo Ren sits still in bed, he feels as if he can hear the droid humming in the next room. He moves the workbench closer to his inner sanctum, eventually placing it at the end of his bed, the gentle whirring lulling him to sleep when the base's sleep cycle sets in. It's strangely comforting, he comments to no one, to have another body in the room.

The whirring heightens one morning cycle (artificial light bathing every hallway of the base, hot food being prepared in the canteen, no doubt Phasma was on her way through her third cup of brown bean water). Kylo rolls over, hair a mess of curls about his ears, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he turns towards the droid. Its legs twitch a little - he recalls the wiring being a little messed up, he had wanted to work on that today - and he scrambles towards it.

"Hhhh….," the droid's lips shake and it seems to sigh, something glowing distantly in its glassy eyes, "…hhh…" Ren perches on the edge of the bed, expectantly, hands hovering over the toolbox. The droid sighs again, air hissing through its mouth - no lungs, but artificial muscles contracting and expanding the chest cavity, cooled with an air flow (Ren had investigated it. How bizarre).

Then it fell still, again.

Kylo slumps his shoulders a little, silently berating himself for getting excited. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing strands out of his face, and almost turns away.

The droid shoots upright, the whirring back as it wheezes back into life, spilling a sea of words from its mouth, arms jerking a little against the edges of the bench. It seems to reach over and grab the bedsheets from underneath Ren - he scuttles backwards, letting the droid drag the covers over itself and kneeling nearer the pillows. He runs a hand through his hair again, shoving it back behind his ears, tight lipped in surprise at the droid's hands lurching over itself, touching at its hair and sides.

"What!," it barks, and Kylo Ren's eyebrows arch at the rusty voice issuing from its mouth, "what did you! Do!"

"What?" The droid does not turn to look at him, instead furiously patting over its chest and finding the gap in the metal plating where Kylo had opened it up, movements jerky from disuse - yet fingers nimble enough to poke around the plating, pushing into the places that Ren has welded shut. It reminds him of a human reopening a wound, shoving past the scab.

"What did you do!", it kicks itself into life, the voice almost matching the workings of its jaws.

"I just--," he is cut off as the droid tears itself open, shoving a hand inside and immediately flopping back on the bench, battery likely pushed out of place, "--put you…back together."

He glares at the droid, bits of red hair falling out, eyes lifeless once more - anger and frustration bubbling in his gut. Removing the hand from the droid's chest, Ren finds himself close enough to spot etchings in its hands, like rudimentary fingernails. He turns his gaze back to the droid's head, eyes hardening.

"Idiot."

\--

The next time the droid awakens, Ren has fixed a breastplate across its middle (a somewhat battered piece of stormtrooper armour, pilfered from the practice level) and thrown a blanket over it. He waits, hovering by the workbench, clothes loose and casual - non-threatening, he believes - and mask left by his bed.

"My chest!", the droid wheezes, not sitting up this time - it wakes up in a much quieter fashion, "what has happened to my, my…"

"Chest?," Ren provides, somewhat unhelpfully.

"Cavity. Chest cavity," the droid snaps, shutters pulling over its eyes very slowly as it simulates annoyance and disbelief. It pats gingerly over the breastplate, "what is this."

"You took yourself apart," matter of fact for once, Ren scratches his stubble a little, "it's to stop you."

For a moment the droid goes silent - but not turned off again, simply calculating, whirring a little as its chest rose a little - before sitting up a little. It leans on one arm and turns its head to the side, "my legs."

"They need rewiring, or something," Ren shrugs, "I hadn't got round to it yet." The droid gives him a look, to which he rolls his eyes. "Sorry." (If robots could huff, the droid in front of him would do so.) "I'll fix them later."

They both still for a few moments, before Ren ventures to speak again, "what's your name?" The droid stares at him blankly. "What do I call you."

The droid's eyes roll forward, to stare at its - his, Kylo realises he should probably be referring to the droid as something more than an object, now that he has chosen to speak - hands, "I am an HX-2 protocol and service droid, that is my name." The joints in each finger squeak a little as the droid flexes them. Kylo reaches out for one of the hands, curling it so he could see beneath the plating. "Are you listening?"

"That doesn't count as a name," Ren ignores the question. "I'm going to oil the squeak out your hands."

\--

"I would like clothes." Kylo had stepped out the shower when the droid appears at the door of his bathroom, holding a towel in front of himself. 

"I already have one," he gestures at the towel in the droid's hands, the Force summoning one about his person with all the speed he could muster. The droid blinks, as if not quite computing his words. (He wonders over its - his - inner wiring, perhaps the artificial intelligence has been skewed with age and disrepair. He'll take a look later.)

"This is not for you," the droid's face attempts a look of disgust, the technology installed in its skull working double time to pull the skin into place. It - he, Ren has to remind himself - pulls the towel around himself, mimicking Ren's actions. For a moment, Kylo wallows in confusion, before the droid's movements click into place - for some reason, he is trying to cover himself. "I would like some clothes."

Pushing his hair back, Kylo straightens his spine, "you don't need to cover yourself up, there's nothing to see." He casts an eye over the droid's figure. "What would you even do with clothes."

Now, it is the droid's turn to give him a look of mild disbelief - which is achieved quite well, he feels, "wear them, of course." Kylo opens his mouth to make a crude retort, but the droid's legs choose that moment to give way, crumpling in the doorway to the bathroom. Almost without thinking, he throws the Force out to break the fall and the droid stops halfway, joints buckled just short of crashing onto the tile design of Kylo Ren's bathroom.

An hour later, and Kylo slips back into his chambers, a bundle of clothes pilfered from the First Order's uniform hold wrapped up in his arms.

"Will this do?," tone sharp, he dumps the clothing on the droid's lap, who has returned to lying on the workbench. The droid sits up to pick through them, deciding that his words don't warrant a reply. Kylo stands over him, arms folded, critical as the droid holds up a high collared shirt to inspect.

"Yes," the droid's voice seems stilted as it adds, "thank you."

A moment of silence as Kylo turns away, unused to gratitude, "you still need a name."

\--

In the midst of the night cycle, Kylo crawls out of a nightmare and sits on the end of his bed, hunched over the droid's legs and picking at the plating. A pair of trooper boots sit on the end of the workbench, stolen from the equipment hold to help shore up the droid's failing joints. He picks one up and sits still for a moment, listening to the low humming filling his bedchambers.

"Can you not sleep."

The voice startles Ren a little, and he blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he turns to see the droid's eyes glowing faintly. He shakes his head a little, "I'm fine."

"Clearly not," the droid's eyes rotate to stare at the ceiling. "Let me assist." Before Kylo can object, the humming lowers to a gentle purr that fills his ears. His shoulders droop a little first, before the rest of his body follows, curling up in the sheets. His sleep is dreamless, and he awakens late, refreshed and strangely at ease.

\--

"You still need a name."

"I told you when you last asked, I am HX-2--"

"That doesn't count," Kylo cuts in, without moving his gaze from the starscape out his window. "I can't call you that."

The droid is perched on the edge of Ren's bed, a position that has become customary within the past few sleep cycles - Ren has demanded the closeness, to make it easier for him to sleep. Dressed in shades of grey with the odd red accent, the droid turns to look at him, "do you need to call me anything at all?"

Almost annoyed, Kylo shoots him a look, warning him against asking stupid questions, "yes." He lapses into thought for a moment, before turning to the droid, "what was your product name again?"

"HX-2," the droid manages a questioning look, strands of ginger hair falling forward out of the slicked back hairstyle he seems to prefer.

"How about," Kylo rifles through the alphabet, "Hox."

"No."

"Hax?"

The droid gives him an irritable look, "no."

"Hex."

"No."

"Hux?"

For a moment, the droid considers. His lips form a thin line, before he replies, "it will do." 

No need to sound too grateful, Kylo almost retorts, but he bites his lip. Instead he rolls onto his side, the sheets bunching around his middle, to face Hux, "when were you made?"

The droid frowns a little, "how would I remember when I was made, that is like asking you to recall your own birth."

Kylo wrinkles his nose a little at the thought. He reshuffles his pillow a little - Hux is sat against the other, all stiff and uptight in his suit, strands of Ren's hair sticking to his trouser leg. The droid is shorter than Ren, but built with a longer body (likely to house outdated and over complex electronics). He hasn't really analysed Hux's exterior shell before; the articulation in the fingers showing through the plates, the slim speakers built into his collarbones, masquerading well as simple body lines. He recalls the dust he painstakingly cleaned out of every joint before working on Hux's insides (the finger he snapped in anger and threw across the room, now fortunately fully functional). Kylo looks up at the droid's face again, and finds himself willing to rephrase the question, "do you remember much, about when you were….functional, before?"

Hux's eyes scan his hands, settling on the crooked joint of the briefly detached digit, "not particularly."

"Hmm."

\--

Phasma is not the most verbose of the First Order's command, but she's strangely discreet - she is who Kylo turns to when he wants someone to dig into Hux's past. (Phasma doesn't comment on the name. She accepts that sometimes even grown men have a need to name their toys.) She merely nods when he gives her Hux's product details, her cape swirling around her feet as she marches away. Five day cycles later, she knocks on Kylo's door.

"I've found blueprints, sir," she holds out a datapad to him, helmet conveniently covering her features as she casts an eye over the droid behind Ren, who is inspecting a datapad (the cracked screen gives it away as Kylo's). "I was curious when I ran a few basic scans and came across nothing that matched your droid's details, but going deeper revealed--"

"--a prototype," Kylo's brows furrow as he flicks through the images on screen. He glances over his shoulder - Hux has wandered to one of the windows, comparing a map of the constellations to the pinpricks of light outside. Oblivious. He gazes back at the plans.

\--

Kylo does not bring it up until they are lying side by side, the droid now persuaded into becoming horizontal beside him whenever he felt like sleeping. Hux's eyes are turned to the canopy overhead, folds of hanging black fabric mirroring the bedclothes below.

"Hux." The droid doesn't turn his head, humming softly in reply. "Do you ever think about where you came from? Who made you?"

"No," is the simple reply. 

Kylo props himself up on one arm - in Hux's eyes, he can see the smallest reflections of the stars. The droid's face betrays nothing. He shifts closer, fingertips brushing the silicon skin on the back of the droid's hand, "do you remember anything? From before I turned you on."

For a moment, the droid seems to think, eyes drifting down to look at Ren's, before simply, "no."

Kylo opens his mouth to say something before Hux, ever emotionless, seems to change his mind, "I remember very little. It's hardly worth repeating." He turns his gaze back to the ceiling and Kylo finds himself a little lost in the droid's hairline, the freckled skin blending into strands of synthetic hair. He had offered to tidy it up, which the droid had been reluctant to do but gave in under Ren's demanding hands, a choppy cut fringe pushed back over his skull.

Hux blinks slowly, before continuing, voice suddenly small and soft in the expanse of Kylo's bedchambers, "I was very lonely."

\--

Hux hums awake in Kylo's embrace, the covers wrapped around them both, black hair tangled between his fingers. He recalls the man mumbling something about knowing loneliness, cheek pressed to Hux's hip, before falling asleep to the hum of the droid's insides. His fingers graze Ren's cheek, pushing aside tendrils of hair. The real breath escaping from Kylo's lips is warm against his palm, before the man shifts in his sleep to push his face into Hux's chest. He drools a little, spittle darkening Hux's shirt. Hux pats him gently.

Not all humans are so bad, it seems.

\--

Kylo takes Hux to his office to look at the blueprints. It's not a proper office, just a room he has commandeered to brood in, when the air in his bedroom and workbench became too stale to think in. The ginger droid seats himself slowly to leaf through them, eyes scanning the pages quickly before he moves on - does he have a scanner built in? Kylo wonders. Is he storing it internally? He'd ask, but instead he sits in silence, hovering over Hux's shoulder.

The droid stops at last, the papers arranged neatly before him. Kylo leans forward a little, just enough to catch Hux's expression - or lack thereof, the silicon crease smooth for once, mouth a thin line. He sets his hands flat on the table, a soft exhale escaping the droid's body, ribs contracting a little.

"My loneliness makes sense now," Hux seems to worry at his lip a little, holding back an emotion that Ren can't quite determine. "I was meant to be alone."

Kylo can't think of words to comfort him. "I think there was supposed to be more," he fiddles with the cuffs of his clothing, cloak gathered about his shoulders.

"But there was not," Hux's hands fall to his lap. "I am alone."

Ren's mind works overtime for a moment, "you are unique." He stumbles a little over his words, as the droid's brow furrows, "like a person. A being." He tries to soften more as he adds, "you're not alone, with me."

Hux looks at his lap, and it takes Kylo a moment to realise he is shaking. 

"Are you?," he asks without thinking, "alright?" Hux places a hand over his own mouth, head shaking ever so slightly as he stares hard at the pages in front of him. "Hux," Ren ventures quietly, hand touching Hux's shoulder, as the droid spins his chair to face him and lean into the touch - and he feels himself fade a little, back to being Ben again, hugging his second ever droid to his chest as it sparked and malfunctioned in his arms. The sand had bled into its insides through his poor welding, followed by water, and now it jerked around in his arms as the circuits wore down. Hux is larger and better built and warm - possibly overheating - but Ben holds him close as the droid shakes against his shoulders, overcome with emotion.

He mumbles into Hux's ear, that he's not alone, neither of them alone, whilst the droid buries his face in Ben's hair. He thinks of being ten again, waving the Millennium Falcon off, and holds on a little tighter.

\--

When they next end up in bed, the droid lets Kylo press a little closer, pushing his hands through the dark hair spread across his chest. Ren's hands loop around the droid's waist, leaning into the touch. The lights of the room dim with the beginning of the sleep cycle, the stars shining brighter outside.

"That toolkit you use is too small for you," Hux observes quietly, abdomen emitting its standard low hum.

"I like it," Kylo's voice is muffled by Hux's shirt. "It's mine to use." He shuffles himself a little closer between the sheets, forehead bumping against Hux's chin. "It was a present." From someone who left him very lonely, even now. He feels Hux's humming rise a little in volume. The toolkit sits at the end of his bed, open and ready to use.

"Your left leg has a limp, I'll fix it tomorrow," he mumbles quietly into Hux's shirt.

"Mhm," Hux's lips brush against Kylo's forehead, "if you say so." They are not alone.


End file.
